Boy's Cinema (1933)

12 A sharp exclamation came from his lips. Stepping near to the broad open grate wherein smouldered the last of the wood logs Dan's keen eyes saw something—a trifle that would have escaped the gaze of most men. He bent down eagerly for a closer examination. There was a sudden loud clatter against the door, the sound of voices calling for Clary. Dan's body straight- ened and stiffened. It was Verity and his posse. For some reason they were seeking the absent rancher. Dan listened with all his ears, then he heard something which instantly decided his course of action. He clambered up the beam like a monkey, flashed through the open trap and dropped, a few moments later, on to the broad waiting back of Thunder. As he rode away loud yells pursued him. The posse had seen him. The cowboy counsellor was being chased-- a bad beginning to his first legal ease. It might be hard to explain. The bend of the road hid him from the view of his pursuers. His eyes glimpsed suddenly a narrow path sweeping upwards on a wooded hillside. A touch of the rein and Thunder took it like the great mare she was. At the summit Dan halted her abruptly, grabbed the neat package from the saddle, then with a pat on her loins, cried: "Home, beauty. Guess you know your way." Thunder flashed down the descend- ing track. With one last admiring look at her Dan raced into the shelter of the woods. With lightning speed he changed his cowboy outfit for the book- agent attire. A handy pile of autumn leaves was the cover for the guilty costume. A narrow path—a bare track—led downwards to where a wooden brides spanned the stream, the posse, baulked and puzzled, came rushing back along the road. And Matt Verity, at their head, drew up sharply. "You, again," he cried. "What arc you doin' around here?" "Jest thinkin' out things, sheriff." smiled Dan. "But what's, the trouble?" "Some cowbor galoot has been tryin' to rob Bill Clary," spluttered- the sheriff, "and he's jriven us the slip." "Tryin' to rob.Bill Clary," drawled Dan. "Does Clary keep a lot of money about the house?" The sheriff opened his mouth—then closed it again. With a fierce gaze into Dan's smiling visage he signalled on his riders. Dan Has a Busy Day. THERE'S the Mexican bandana." cried Sheriff Verity, holding the - object in his hands and thrust- ing it under his deputy's long nose. "That's enough in itself to convict Avery—with the stolen money found at his house. The hunch of yours about Avery went for nothing, Lafe." "It was Clary who rooted around for the money," retorted Waters. "Seemed funny to me that he should be so anxious to join in the search and him Mvrot on the Avery girl. But I guess you're right, sheriff. Anyway, the district judge is on his way and he'll be here by late afternoon. To-morrow he'll try the case and this cowboy lawyer " "Pali!" exploded Verity. "I reckon the judge won't listen to him. Soon as he's heard the evidence I guess he'll tell that faker " Verity halted. From outside came the sound of a shot. The sheriff pitched the bandana on to the tablo and he and his faithful assistant rushed through March 18th, 1933. BOY'S CINEMA the door into the almost deserted mid- day street. No sooner had they emerged than the small office window was flung open wide. A boy's lithe figure dropped into the office. His eyes swept around and then, a soft cry of triumph on his lips, he. raced to the table, grabbed the ban- dana and, two seconds later, a pair of stalwart arms had drawn him upwards. A voice whispered. " Well done, Bobby. Off you go. See you lator." Dan Alton, in his dark legal attire, slithered swiftly to the door of the law office. He was just in time to meet the returning pair, who eyed him with obvious suspicion. "You been lettin' off a gun?" cried Verity. "I heard a shot, sheriff," answered Dan. "But you must know that I don't park a gun. I'm a lawyer, not a killer. And in my legal capacity I've called for another talk with my client." "You can come back later," yelled Verity. "We got no time for you now. And to-morrow your client, as you call that bandit, will be gettin' what's comin' to him. And maybe you, too." "Then I'll see you later, sheriff." smiled Dan, apparently not a wit dis- turbed by the law officer's remarks. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" He walked calmly towards the hotel. But his call was a very brief one. Five minutes later he sauntered out, walked to the edge of the woods and found Ruth and Bobby awaiting him, with Thunder standing by, almost smiling a welcome. "You fired that shot in great style, Miss Avery," cried Dan. "And Bobby did his stuff splendidly. I've got hopes " "You believe Luke will get off?" interrupted the girl impetuously. And Dan, who was getting to like her more and more, declared that his hopes were high indeed. Later on, seated with Ruth at the Avery ranch, Bobby playing outside, Dan unfolded one of the schemes in his mind. "To-morrow'« the trial. Miss Avery," he said. " Clary is called as one of the witnesses, having located the missing wad found here. Now I want you to keep Clary waiting at his ranch. It's important. Can you think of a way?" " He rode over yesterday and asked me to elope with him." cried the girl, her cheeks flushed. "Mr. Alton, would you believe " "I'd believe almost anything of Bill Clary," broke in Dan. "He's one of those guys who can't imagine that he could put a foot wrong. But, listen, Miss Avery. I want you to see Clary and let him believe that you're ready for this elopement " "I couldn't," cried Ruth, flashing her eyes on Dan. "I just couldn't pretend to be sweet to the man who " "You will," asserted Dan, smiling at her. "Just for Luke's sake—and mine." Ruth Avery, whose feelings towards her cowboy counsellor had become tender, went on to protest, but her protests gradually became less assertive. In the course of a quarter of an hour Ruth had consented to play the part. An hour after this Dan, in cowboy costume again, rode Thunder down the mountain road. He had a job of work on hand, and he had said nothing even to Ruth concerning this. It was a risky proceeding, and Ruth might have put up objections. Dan Alton, although he had learned to counter trouble whenever possible, would never listen to danger warnings when the risk looked worth while. He knew that Luke would want all the help to-morrow that could be giren. Every Tuesday Despite the loss of the bandana, and despite all that eloquence might do, Dan realised full well'the prisoner's slender chances. Four miles from the extreme out- skirts of Denver he dismounted. The road at this section descended, and on either side extended the shade of the woods. At a word from Dan, Thunder walked calmly into the woodland as though he knew exactly what was expected of him. . In the shade of the woods Dan pro- ceeded to make some alterations to his toilet. His features he covered with a large, spreading mask. Then around his neck he enwrapped tho gaudy bandana, the loss of which Verity and Waters were mourning. Lighting a cigarette, he waited. Through the small gap in the woodland he could see just enough of the road. His vigil was rather a long one, but Dan had played the patience game before now. At last his eyes glimpsed what lie sought. He stepped silently forward to the edge of the verdure. Each hand now gripped a gun. Dan's grey eyes spoke business. The stage coach, with passengers that included the learned district judge and the State attorney, to say nothing of two lady relatives, breasted the rise. Then a sharp command burst forth, a command that brought the driver and his mate to swift surrender. What followed was talked of in Denver for many years. The learned judge and the State attorney, the two ladies, were "persuaded" to leave the coach, to uplift their hands and to yield such valuables as they possessed to n lone, masked bandit, whose neck flaunted a gaudy Mexican bandana. Judge Carew almost boiled with fury. For a learned judge to be robbed was bad enough, but to bo robbed in broad daylight by one impudent robber was scandalous. ' Tho judge, nevertheless, handed over his watch and wallet, because he never argued with guns. And the seething anger of the judge was not cooled when the bandit, grasping wallet and watch, whispered: "Sorry, judge, but I'm collecting for the poor." The ceremony was over. A few moments later the lone bandit had gone his way and the coach was free to proceed. "I'll know that fellow again," shouted the learned judge, as at last he clambered into the coach. "In spite of his mask I'll know him " "And the gay Mexican bandana," hazarded the State attorney. "You noticed that, of course." "I noticed a lot of things," cried tho angry judge. "I think, somehow. I may have the chance of seeing that fellow collared. And I—I hope he comes before me." A little later Denver rocked with the astounding news that the stage coach had been held up yet again by a lone bandit wearing a gaudy Mexican bandana. For some time respected citizens refused to credit the story. When, further, it was told that the district judge himself had been robbed Denver gasped. Not for years had such excitement reigned, and not for many years had Sheriff Verity and Lafe Waters endured such a gruelling time. The country was scoured, and tho chase carried into the night. Dan Alton's offer of help was refused by Verity and his assistant, and we regret to say that the manner of its refusal was not polite—not at all. But Dan preserved his cheery 6mile,